


Nothing To Give

by ninathena



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: A Thing I Write in All My Fics, Also Clarke is a Mother, Also This Might Feel a Bit Like, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And Finn is a Douche, And Kidnaps Clarke, Because That Seems to Be, Because it's One of My Favorite Tropes, Bellamy Escapes From Prison, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda by Accident, Slow Burn, Snowed In, Stockholm Syndrome, as always
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-07 12:24:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4263174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninathena/pseuds/ninathena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke's world has just been shattered after she catches her husband, Finn, cheating on her. Meanwhile, Bellamy makes a decision that will affect all their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is... different. It's an idea that's been floating inside my head for a while, after remembering a book I read years ago called 'Precious and Fragile Things' by Megan Hart. I thought putting Bellamy and Clarke in this situation would be interesting lol. Hopefully you enjoy it - modern AUs are not something I have a whole lot of experience with writing.
> 
> Story title is brought to you by Sarah McLachlan's song Fear - which has just been perfect for this fic. This is unbeta'd so I apologize for any and all mistakes. Enjoy!

His body is tense, his muscles tight against the cold. He shivers and huddles further into the thin - _stolen_ \- coat, tucking in his chin, his warm breath thawing his lips against the collar. The collar is turned up but he doesn’t think it’s really helping anything - the bitter wind still seeps down his neck. His breath leave his mouth and nose and escapes into the freezing night in white puffs.

He remembers Christmas night – _god_ , almost seventeen years ago – when he and Octavia had stayed outside for hours, watching the snow fall slowly to the ground. Soft, white, clean flakes blanketing the dirty earth of the trailer park around them. She’d said her breath looked like smoke and she tried blowing ‘smoke’ rings around his head, her small face coming close to his with her mouth opened in a wide circle, blowing out big breaths of air, making them both to laugh before they ran out into the night and he chased her around their glittering yard.

That had been a good Christmas. He’d gotten his first job – a janitor at a small company – and was actually able to buy her a few things to leave under their small tree. Hell, they were actually able to get a tree. Octavia had wanted to make everything as colorful as possible, so half of his of checks went to bulbs, and lights, and tinsel, and garland – because if we’re going to decorate a tree, Bellamy, we might as well decorate the whole house, she’d demanded, in her childish voice. And their mother… their mother had actually been happy that year. The year before she died.

Tears suddenly come to his eyes unbidden, and he tries to blink them away as he clears his tight throat, huddling closer to the tree. He needs to stay focused if he’s truly going to make this work. He’s trying to stay hidden as well as inconspicuous - incase the hiding part doesn’t work.

His ungloved hands are hidden in his pockets and the fingers of his right hand are curved gently around the gun. He stares across the dark parking lot with his heart beating wildly in his chest. He knows this isn’t a good idea. As he stands here, thinking over what he’s about to do, he’s imagining all the ways it could go wrong. He suddenly has a vision of dark, red blood melting the bright, white snow and he wants to just call off this whole stupid idea.

No, this isn’t a good idea. This isn’t who he is. But he _is_ a survivor, and this is what he has to do.

xxxxxxxxx

Clarke reaches for the heater, turning it up higher as she drives down the lonely road. There are no other cars – it’s like a winter ghost town. _It_ is _2:30 in the fucking morning, Clarke._ She vaguely hears the radio talking softly in the background, mentioning a winter storm. But she doesn’t care – about any of it – because her world’s just fallen apart, and she doesn’t have a single clue as how to handle it.

Though she’s stopped crying, her lashes are still wet with tears and their fresh tracks still line down her face. She was completely despondent before, but now all she feels is an angry fire in the pit of her stomach – burning so bright it almost makes her sick.

She sniffs and glances up at the mirror, checking the backseat. Her daughters are sleeping soundly - peacefully - while their mother comes apart just a few feet in front of them. She had held her tears till she saw that they were asleep, then she silently let them fall. She didn’t want them to see – to question. But they will eventually, she thinks to herself. They’ll wake and wonder where they’re going, why they had to leave home, why they had to leave _him_. She doesn’t have answers – none that she can really give them, anyway. So she drives, trying to clear her mind so she can think of a plan.

She can’t go to her mother, she’s just come back from there and it’s too far away. Besides, she doesn’t think she could sit there across from her mother, who would be offering her pity while her eyes would shout ‘I told you so’.

She can’t go to any of her friends - all of her friends are _his_ friends, and she doesn’t trust them not to say where she is, because he will be looking for her, calling everyone they know. She could imagine it now when he finally finds her, him on his knees with those sad brown eyes - that always let him get away with everything - face full of remorse, begging her for forgiveness, telling her how much he loves her.

It was all so familiar – and she’s so damned stupid.

She grits her teeth and clenches the steering wheel. She can’t see him, not tonight, otherwise she might just punch him in his remorseful face. She blinks rapidly before releasing a sigh. She’d just have to stay in a hotel. There was nothing else for it. She knows she won’t get any sleep – the memory of him rutting above some strange woman in _their_ bed, will be at the forefront of her mind, keeping her awake - but at least the girls will finally be out of the car. They’d already been driving three hours straight _before_ all this happened. And then _she_ will have some time to think - think about her next move, her options.

Suddenly her gas light goes off. She rolls her eyes, dropping her head back on the seat. Of course, this is all she needs. As soon as she can, she stops at a gas station to refill the SUV, and her oldest, Olivia, wakes. Clarke sees in the mirror as the girl rubs her eyes then blinks in confusion, looking out the window.

“Are we home, yet?” the girl mumbles.

She knows her daughter’s mind must still be hazy with sleep if she can’t remember the drama of fleeing their house only hours before, with a half-dressed Finn rushing hurriedly behind them.

She turns in her seat, taking in Olivia’s tired eyes and slow movements. “Not tonight, baby. We’re going to stay somewhere else.”

The little four-year old brings her brows together in confusion. “Back to grandma’s?”

Clarke gives her a small smile. “No, not grandma’s. Go back to sleep, I’ll wake you when we get there.”

The girl drops her head dramatically against the seat. “I want to go _home_ ,” she moans.

Clarke feels for her, except for their small respite when they came home early to find Finn in the process of fucking another woman, they’ve literally been in the car for hours. “I know, baby. I’m sorry. We’re almost there, I promise. Just go back to sleep for now.”

She watches as Olivia leans her head onto her shoulder, trying to get comfortable in her seat before she closes her eyes once more. Clarke then glances at her other daughter, Becca, her nearly two-year old, who is, amazingly, still asleep in her car seat. She is an incredibly good baby, rarely fusses or cries unless really distressed about something. It had been quite the happy surprise, after Olivia, who seemed to cry non-stop after she was born. And her terrible two’s had just been downright… terrible.

But things seemed to really be going well now. Olivia had just started pre-school, Becca had just started learning how to use the toilet, Clarke was back in school, and Finn had just transferred to this new teaching job at the nearby college, which would allow him to be home more often. They were supposed to be getting closer as a family – as a couple.

She was _so_ fucking stupid.

She suddenly realizes that this may not have been the first time – well, she knew it wasn’t the _first_ time, but after _that_ \- after they were married and together for years and had two daughters. When he would be off in a different part of the country “working”, leaving her home alone with their children, was he always fucking someone else? Did he only get caught now because his new job no longer required him to be away from home – be away from _her_?

She can’t seem to catch her breath as she rapidly sucks air into her lungs. She needs to get ahold of herself. This is not the time to start breaking down – leave that for after the girls are asleep in their hotel room and she can lock herself away in the bathroom.

She closes her eyes, taking deep breaths through her nose before slowly exhaling. She fights back the burning in her eyes and the panic in her chest.

With one last glance at her sleeping girls, she exits the Escalade to begin pumping gas. As she fills her gas tank, the sharp, bitter wind whips against her face, instantly freezing her nose, and she exhales in short spurts, while lifting her shoulders to keep her body compacted and warm. Her natural body temperature has always been on the cool side, and she hates it. She hates the cold. She wishes she lived somewhere where it was always warm, always sunny.

When she’s finished, she quickly replaces the cap before heading inside to pay. The young man at the register looks almost asleep as he sits behind the counter, head in his hand, tiredly watching a small TV. And as he processes her transaction, she turns to look out the window at her vehicle, quickly checking to see that everything’s okay.

When she walks back out, the snapping, icy wind is overwhelming, feeling almost like sharp stabs against her face and inside her lungs as she inhales it. She jogs to the SUV, not focused on anything except getting out of the cold.

As she closes the door she releases a short cry of relief at being out of the cold, and she pulls her coat tighter around her and turns the heat on high. She looks back again to check on the girls and smiles as she sees that Becca is wide awake, whispering quietly to her stuffed bunny.

Before she can turn back around – before she can even take a breath – the passenger door opens, letting the freezing wind inside their warm haven, and a man quickly sits down before slamming the door again.

Clarke is shocked – too shocked to speak at first – as her heart speeds up against her ribs. But finally she does find words – some very unpleasant words – and she opens her mouth to let them out, when her eyes glance down. She stops breathing when she notices the gun he has pointed at her.

Her eyes go wide and her chest tightens in fear.

“Get out,” his rough voice demands.

This is not happening to her today. Her world is already crashing and burning, it’s not supposed to happen twice in one day. But of course it fucking does. Of course the universe would pick _this_ moment for her to be robbed.

“Did you hear me? I said get the fuck out,” he growls.

She glances at the back seat and his eyes follow.

Olivia is still asleep, but Becca is staring at them, her wide blue eyes filled with scared confusion.

Clarke sees it as the man’s eyes go wide and his mouth drops slightly. “Oh, shit,” he whispers, as he notices her children for the first time.

She quickly turns towards her door but only manages to open it barely an inch before she feels him lean over, arm outstretched, pulling her door shut again.

She panics, and her instincts take over when she pulls his head back by his hair. He gives a short yelp before gripping tightly onto her wrist, making her cry out in pain, but she holds firm, trying to keep him away from her. He growls as he slowly pulls her grip from his dark curls, and he feels a few of them as they rip from his head.

He points the gun at her and everything freezes - all that she can hear is the pounding of her heart and their frenzied breathing in the small space.

Their eyes are locked and he looks absolutely furious, but she knows she must look the same with her knitted brow and gritted teeth. She’s ready to rip this man’s throat out with her teeth, if it comes to that.

He shakes his head slightly. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

She gives him an ‘are you fucking crazy’ look before she shakes her own head back at him. “What’s wrong with me? _You_ are pointing a gun at me, in front of my children. _You_ told me to get out, and that’s exactly what I was doing when-“

Her angry speech is cut short when he grabs her by the arm, nodding towards the mirror. “Look,” he angrily whispers, “Look.”

She glances in the mirror only to see a patrol car pull up to the pump behind her. Her mouth opens slowly as she stares at the reflection of the car. She needs to get to that officer, but she can’t leave her girls here alone with this maniac. If she can’t get to the cop, he’ll just have to come to her.

Her eyes dart from the mirror to her wheel – specifically her horn – then back to the crazy man sitting next to her.

“Don’t even fucking think about it,” he warns.

She’s scared – _terrified_ – but she has to think about her daughters. They always come first. Even before her own life.

She lets out a huff and immediately slams her free hand on her horn. But he’s just as quick and he snatches her wrist just as the heel of her palm hits the wheel, making her SUV honk for all of half a second.

They struggle as she tries to release her wrists. They’re not arguing, or screaming, or making any kind of noise at all really, except for grunting and growling. But he quickly has her subdued – her wrists trapped within his left hand as he holds them against the center console, while his right hand points the gun at her again.

“Stop,” he growls, breathlessly. “Stop fighting, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Clarke scoffs, looking at him like he’s crazy. “You really expect me to believe that?” Out of the corner of her eye she sees movement from behind her, and she turns to look. The cop has exited his cruiser and is making his way around the front of his car and into the small store.

The man sees this as well and releases her wrists. “Drive,” he demands.

She shakes her head minutely, her nose flaring in indignation.

He rolls his eyes and his jaw, before lifting the gun again. “Drive,” he repeats.

She angrily plops back in her seat properly, and starts the car before finally pulling out of the small lot. She grips the wheel and tries to come up with a plan.

xxxxxxxxx

Bellamy swallows hard, as his eyes whip back and forth across the deserted road they drive down, trying to think about his next step.

This was not part of the plan. Kidnapping a vehicle full of people – _kids_. He glances at the backseat and sees the girl in the car seat is holding her stuffed animal tightly to her chest as she sucks her thumb. Octavia use to do that. He remembers he and his mother had a bitch of a time trying to get her to stop, but once she’d started kindergarten she seemed to become embarrassed by the soothing habit, and stopped on her own.

He feels the familiar pang of loneliness and he suddenly, _desperately_ misses his sister.

“Don’t look at them.”

He looks at the angry blonde to his left, she was on fire – obviously pissed beyond all belief. He’d be terrified of her if he wasn’t so turned on. He smirks and releases a breath, before looking out at the road once more.

What the fuck was he going to do now?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 for you, lovelies. Thank you to all my readers and subscribers, and anyone who bookmarks, or leaves a kudos or comment! You all rock! I have no beta, so I'm sorry for any mistakes. But I still hope you enjoy!

“I have to use the potty.”

Olivia’s head is between the driver and passenger seats, looking at Clarke in irritation.

Clarke glances between her and the road. “Olivia, what are you doing? Sit back in your seat.”

“But I have to go potty. Mommy, I can’t hold it anymore. I don’t want to be _in_ here anymore.” The girl slams her hand on the back of Clarke’s seat, making it jump and Clarke rolls her eyes in aggravation as she grips hard onto the steering wheel.

She is so close to losing it.

She knows it’s not her daughter’s fault, knows that the girl is exhausted from having now spent five hours inside this damn vehicle, but after the day she’s had and the terrifying situation they’re now in, she’s not sure she can take much more. But before she can open her mouth to scold the girl, her passenger beats her to it – in a much more diplomatic way.

“You shouldn’t be out of your seatbelt,” he says, matter-of-factly.

Olivia turns to their captor. “Why,” she asks, petulantly. Clarke shakes her head, she knows for a fact that Olivia knows exactly why she needs to wear her seatbelt, has explained the consequences of riding without one to her numerous times after the girl complained about having to wear it.

“Because it’s dangerous,” the man explains, calmly.

She knows he’s insane _because_ of his calm demeanor. Not many people can handle being in a car with a crying baby and a cranky four-year old for two hours. But when Becca finally did start to cry and Olivia finally did wake up, in an even more irritable mood than when she fell asleep, he didn’t get angry – didn’t even groan or complain. In fact, despite her objections, he turned in his seat to talk to them, play with them, tried to keep them occupied while she continued to drive only god knows where.

He kept his gun hidden in his coat pocket - something she was keenly aware of.

After the first few suspicious questions about who he was and how he got here – apparently his name is Bellamy - Olivia began to warm up to him, telling him all about herself and their life. Clarke had tried to stop the girl’s excessive talking – she didn’t want this gun wielding maniac to know about her daughter’s fondness for Dora the Explorer and dancing, their life was none of his business and she wanted him as far away from it as possible – but Olivia seemed more than happy to ignore her, excited at the prospect of talking to a complete stranger.

Yes, they’ve had the ‘no talking to strangers’ discussion. Obviously, when they get out of this, they should really revisit it.

“But I don’t like it, it hurts,” Olivia complains, rubbing her neck.

He raises his brows, looking in the backseat. “That’s because you’re not in a booster seat,” he says, as his gaze travels to Clarke.

Her eyes widen with outrage when she catches his disapproving look. No fucking way was this asshole judging her skills as a parent. For a moment, she considers slamming on the breaks and bitch slapping him. But she quickly realizes that, that’s not the smartest thing to do to a man with a gun.

Clarke shakes her head, glaring at the dark, snow filled road ahead of her. “We forgot it at my mother’s,” she says, between gritted teeth. “We hadn’t been there in a while and all she had was a car seat for Becca,” she explains. And why the hell was she defending herself to him. The man just kidnapped her and her children at gunpoint. She was sure her life decisions were far better than any that he’s ever made.

He doesn’t say anything back to her, only turning back to Olivia. “Well, you still need to be wearing your seatbelt.” When the girl doesn’t show any signs of moving, only looking at him with a defiant glare, he takes hold of her skinny arm, guiding her back into her seat as far as his arm can reach. “Now, make sure you put it on the right way.”

Clarke can hear the metal and plastic of the buckle rubbing against each other as Olivia grunts.

“You need help,” he asks, after a moment, as he watches her daughter.

“No, I-I got it,” the girl grumbles, from the back and Clarke hears the telltale sign of a click.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Bellamy shake his head.

“Don’t move it behind your back, keep it on your shoulder.”

“But it hurts, really bad.”

“I know,” he says, not an ounce of annoyance in his voice, “but we’re almost there.”

Panic shoots through Clarke’s chest. “Almost where? Where are you taking us?” It’s not the first time in these last two hours that she’s asked that question, but it is the first time she asks it with such fear. They were almost there – wherever _there_ was. He’s taking them somewhere to kill them, her flustered brain thinks. If he wasn’t, why would he let them see his face? Why would he be having them drive miles out in the middle of nowhere? What the fuck was she going to do? The only thing she knew for certain was that she would not let him hurt her babies.

His gun. He still had his gun in his right pocket. If she could somehow get ahold of it first… Sure he was stronger – she felt how strong he was in their earlier scuffle - and wrestling it from him would probably be next to impossible. But all she needs to do is point and pull the trigger. Two seconds, that’s all it would take to finish this whole thing. To finish _him_.

He must be able to hear the alarm in her voice. “Just, calm down,” he says, gently.

Her chest is rising and falling rapidly, despite his soothing voice, and she’s quickly looking from him to the road. “Where the fuck are you taking us?”

He lifts his hand, palm up. “Hey, _relax_.” His voice is sterner but it’s still not helping with the crazy beating of her heart or the anxiety welling up inside of her.

Olivia must notice something is off, and she asks Clarke if she’s okay. But she can’t answer her, can barely hear her over the thoughts flying through her own head. She needs to think of something, _anything_.

“Do _not_ tell me to relax! Don’t even-” She shakes her head.

Bellamy licks his lips and eyes her like she’s some feral animal. And she supposes she is, right about now.

“Okay, look I’m sorry, alright?”

“Why the hell didn’t you just drop us off? Why didn’t you just let us go?!”

He frowns at her. “Have you looked outside?” he nods out the window. “You want me to drop the three of you off in the middle of nowhere, when it’s barely five degrees outside?”

Clarke eyes him, and she knows she must look crazed but she just doesn’t care at the moment. “ _Anywhere_! You could’ve dropped us off anywhere before you had us drive as far from civilization as possible!”

He’s nodding his head placatingly while looking from her to the road. “Okay, just watch the road alright,” he demands, but she’s not listening anymore because she is so scared and just… so fucking done. With _everything._ It’s not fair! A few hours ago she caught her husband cheating on her, then she was kidnapped, and now she’s driving to her own _death_? And she just can’t _handle_ any of it anymore.

“Do you really think any of this is _okay_? What kind of person does this? What kind of person kidnaps people? _Kids_! Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Calm down, and watch the road.”

She’s shaking her head at the ridiculousness of it all and her eyes begin watering as she continues with her rant. “I’m not going to let you hurt us! Do you hear me?!”

“I’m not going to hurt you, just _calm_ down.”

“You can just fucking forget it! I swear to God, I will-“

Suddenly, she’s flying forward. Her head hits the steering wheel and she can feel the pain as it blooms across her forehead, moving all the way to the back of her skull and down the base of her neck. She winces at the earsplitting screech of metal, causing the pain in her head to throb harder, till everything is just… gone.

xxxxxxxxx

Bellamy inhales sharply as his head flies back. He grits his teeth, groaning at the pain in his right arm. The sound of crying is breaking through his hazy mind, and he realizes it’s coming from the backseat. He turns gingerly – aware of his injured arm he’s keeping close to his stomach – checking on the girls.

Except for a small cut on Olivia’s temple, neither of them seemed to be hurt. Relief floods his chest and he lets out a soft sigh. He reaches his left arm back, grasping tenderly onto Olivia’s knee, trying to soothe the crying girl. “Hey.” She looks up at him with red eyes and a bit of blood trailing down her face. “That’s why you always wear a seatbelt,” he says, with a small grin.

She nods her head slowly before looking at her wailing sister. “Can I take it off now?”

He nods back. “Check on your sister. Don’t take her out of her seat, yet.”

He looks to the woman next to him. She’s not moving, but she _is_ breathing and he thinks that, that is definitely a good sign. He gently lifts her head from the wheel, laying it back on the seat. The right side of her face is covered in blood but he can’t tell where it’s coming from. He tries to move her hair out of the way but it sticks to the tacky bodily fluid.

He grasps her bicep, shaking her slightly. “Hey. Hey, wake up.”

She moans rolling her head to the side before finally opening her eyes. She doesn’t move, only stares at him while he tries again to work her hair free from her sticky face. When he finally does, he can truly see her blue eyes and they’re so clear – _clean_. He wonders if he stared into them long enough, would _he_ feel clean? Could her gaze absolve him of his sins?

He blinks and looks away quickly – embarrassed by such ridiculous thoughts. This woman hates him, would likely kill him given the chance, and anyways, he’s certain there’s nothing that would free him from the choices he’s made, and the consequences he’s faced because of them.

“You need to stay awake,” he says, when he sees her eyes start to close again.

Suddenly they open wide, along with her mouth. She goes to sit up only to find herself restrained against her seatbelt.

“Hey, relax.” He vaguely remembers saying that exact thing not ten minutes before. It didn’t work then and it certainly doesn’t help now.

She scrambles for her buckle before finally getting it off, then she hastily turns in her seat.

“Mommy,” Olivia cries out, as she sees her mother’s face.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

He swallows hard, trying not to think about the blinding pain in his arm. “I think they’re okay,” he groans.

She gives him an angry look before turning back to her daughter.

He hears them as she checks them over, asks them about any pains they have. But his eyes are locked outside. The snow is coming down fast now, and they are truly in the middle of fucking nowhere. He was sure they were going in the right direction – was sure that they were close. It _has_ to be close, they’d been driving for so long.

Clenching his jaw, he reaches across his stomach, using his left hand to open his door – he closes it swiftly, not wanting to let the warm air inside, escape faster than necessary. When he steps into the snow he sinks and the fresh powder makes its way inside his shoes, melting against his thin socks. It’s only about three inches, but more is coming - and quickly.

Nothing but dark woods surround them and he’s unable to see anything but falling snow, further down the small road they’re on. He walks towards the front of the SUV and sees exactly what they hit – a fallen tree, completely covered in snow. It would’ve been hard to see even if she had been paying attention, he thinks.

The damage is substantial, and he knows they won’t be going anywhere, anytime soon. Which is a problem, since its fucking freezing and only getting colder. He needs to get them out of here, needs to come up with _something_ , otherwise they’re all going to freeze to death, and he refuses to have any more deaths on his conscience. Especially ones that are undeserved.

As he tries to come up with an idea, the truck engine cranks behind him and he jumps. He turns to see the blonde, once again facing forward, trying to start her vehicle. He wants to tell her he’s seen the damage and it’s a lost cause, but he’s certain that’ll just piss her off. He turns back around, walking forward a bit till he hears a door slam.

“Where the hell are you going?”

She strides up to him as fast as she can in the snow, an angry look on her face. She must’ve cleaned it – except for her hairline, her face is clear of blood – and he can see a gash high on her forehead.

“We need to find shelter. Storm is coming and this is only going to get worse,” he explains, gesturing to the winter wonderland around them. “Not to mention colder.”

She shakes her head and crosses her arms against the cold. “So you’re just going to what, walk out into a blizzard and hope you find shelter?”

He looks up and watches as the white clouds of their breath mingle above them. “It’s not a blizzard, yet.”

She scoffs and he can practically feel her rolling her eyes. “Yeah, yet. You go out there, and you die.”

He looks at her sharply, his eyes boring into hers. “Why do you care, huh? I’m sure you think you’d be better off without me.” She jerks her head back, and he thinks that he may have actually hurt her until he sees her eyes flash with annoyance. “Look, either I leave and I come back with news or I freeze to death out there. Either way, you win.”

She watches him for a minute, deciding on something. “Would you?”

He knits his brow, blinking against the falling snow.

“Would you come back for us if you found something?”

He huffs, turning away from her as he shakes his head in aggravation. “No, I’d just leave the three of you here to rot,” he says, sarcastically.

She steps closer to him – crowding him – looking up firmly into his eyes. “I want my phone back.”

He forgot that he’d taken it from her. “I was joking,” he mumbles.

“I don’t care, I want it back. Even if you _would_ come back, you could still die out there. And then where would we be?”

He chuckles sardonically. “And here I was thinking you were actually starting to worry about me.”

She doesn’t answer, only holding her gloved hand out for her phone.

He sighs before placing it in her palm. “Good luck getting reception.”

She turns without another glance, quickly making her way back to the truck. He looks out at the glittering, empty road before him. He really hopes he finds something soon, because he really didn’t want to die out here.

xxxxxxxxx

Olivia sits in the front passenger seat with Becca standing beside her, both of them staring out into the wintery darkness beyond the Escalade.

Clarke is playing with her phone, trying to get _any_ kind of signal. Damn that asshole, he jinxed her.

“Mommy, I still have to go potty,” Olivia whines.

Clarke sighs, she hates asking her to hold it, but helping her four-year old, cranky, sleep deprived, daughter to squat above the freezing snow, with a blizzard coming their way, is not something that sounds very appealing. But as rewarding a job as motherhood is, it’s _full_ of the unappealing. “Okay, let mommy get out and I’ll come around to get you on the other side, okay?”

“But where are we going potty?”

“Outside,” Clarke answers.

Olivia crinkles her nose in disgust. “But mommy, there’s no potty out there.”

“It’s okay, mommy’s going to help you-“

“ _Bell_ ,” Becca yells, as excitedly waves her bunny around and screeches with a smile.

Clarke’s jaw drops as she looks out the window and sees him coming back down the road, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched over against the cold wind.

“Mommy look, it’s Bellamy.”

Her heart beats faster and she smiles with relief. He’s only been gone thirty minutes and she _really_ hopes the fact that he’s back means he’s found something. Suddenly, she drops her smile – frozen in shock. She’s _happy_ to see him. Like, actually excited he’s back. Sure she hoped he would find a way to rescue them from their predicament, but she’s also just really, truly happy he’s not dead. That he kept his word and came back for them. When she sees him, the weight in her chest lightens ten-fold and she feels like she can breathe again.

_When the hell did that happen?_

He trudges up as fast as he can around the fallen tree and up to her door.

“Did you find anything?” she asks, hopefully.

His lips are pressed tightly together and his jaw his shaking along with the rest of him. She notices for the first time, his thin coat and even thinner pants. He’s not wearing a hat and she knows he has no gloves. What the hell was she thinking letting him leave like that.

But he just smiles and nods. “Found what I was looking for all along. Told you we were almost there.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, have you ever read a fanfiction where the author talked about something in the story that you happened to know about, and then you read it and it's quite obvious the author doesn't know a thing at all about it? Yeah, that's probably going to happen here, and I apologize right now for any inaccuracies, but I know absolutely nothing about living "off the grid". I did quite a bit of research but I still feel like an idiot when it comes to the subject. So, I hope you can suspend your disbelief, overlook anything that's blatantly wrong, and still enjoy the story.
> 
> On that note, this is unbeta'd so I also apologize for any and all mistakes you might come across.
> 
> But now let me thank all of you who leave comments, kudos, subscriptions and bookmarks. I know I say this a lot but your feedback is what keeps me posting! Knowing you're enjoying what I write makes me so happy, you have NO idea!

“Do you have the key?” Clarke asks through her chattering teeth, as she holds Becca tighter to her chest. She should be afraid, but she’s so damn cold all she can feel is grateful that this cabin is here in the middle of nowhere.

Bellamy huffs out a laugh between ragged breaths, shaking his head. He kneels down on the small porch, holding onto Oliva’s arms as she gingerly climbs off his back.

Clarke had refused to let him carry her at first, the man was a maniac at worst, and a miscreant at best – not to mention he still had that gun. He’d rolled his eyes and raised a brow, snarking about how he was sure her three foot daughter would be just fine tromping through the cold snow for half an hour.

So she’d allowed it, nodding her head in quiet consent. But she’d watched him closely as he carried Olivia on his back, teasing and playing with her, trying to keep her mind from the numbing cold, until his breath started coming out in hard pants, and he could no longer keep up any kind of conversation trudging through, what was fast becoming, a whiteout.

She’d held Becca close to her chest, trying to keep the toddler out of the bitter wind that assaulted them. After about twenty minutes of that, she was about to tell him he could go to hell and she was just going to try their luck trying to keep warm in the Escalade, but then she saw it, far off into the distance through the near blinding snow, a dark shape of a building. And when they’d finally gotten there, she’d been so happy she would’ve cried had the wind not totally frozen her face by that point.

She watches him as he furrows his brows and takes a key from his pocket, slowly inserting it. She’s about to rip him a new one for taking so damn long, but then his face lights up as he turns the key and unlocks the door.

She frowns at him as he gives her a triumphant smile. “Why do I get the feeling you weren’t really sure that was going to work,” she asks, in annoyance.

He ignores her, turning the handle and opening the door, ushering them in quickly before slamming the door shut. It’s dark – very dark – and she can only see the basic of shapes thanks to the dim light that comes from the windows. Their heavy breathing fills the space around them as she moves her hand along a wall, coming across a switch, but when she flicks it up nothing happens.

“The powers out,” she announces, followed by a mutter of, “of course.”

She hears him take a deep breath. “It’s powered by a generator,” he explains, “I’m going to look for a flashlight.” She watches his dark form as he crosses the room and disappears, and her stomach suddenly clenches hard with a multitude of feelings that she can’t even begin to process.

She’s sure that this has been the longest eight hours of her life and she’s just… exhausted. Becca yawns in her ear while Olivia squeezes Clarke’s hand and she realizes that her girls are probably even more so.

“Mommy, I need to go potty,” Olivia whines.

Clarke moves them through the dark room till she finds a couch and sits the girls on it, in a pool of light coming from a window. She kneels in front of Becca, rubbing the toddler’s tiny frozen fingers between he own. “I’ll take you potty once Bellamy comes back with a flashlight, alright?”

She watches as both their eyes droop heavier while they become more comfortable on the couch, leaning back against the soft cushions. She can hear noises of cupboards and drawers opening and closing, coming from what she assumes is the kitchen, as Bellamy continues in his search.

She sits heavier on the floor, laying her head softly on the cushion between her daughters’ legs, closing her eyes – she’s so damn tired, she can only barely keep them open – but only for a moment, she tells herself.

xxxxxxxxx

The sharp sounds of sizzling cracks and pops give way to the thick, balmy scent of smoke and earthy pine, creating a heady mix in her dream. She’s bathed in warmth, and the absolute contentment she feels causes her to moan lightly before she slowly opens her eyes.

Her mind feels thick and sluggish while she watches the kaleidoscope of colors in the fire, the heat warming her face like a mask. Slowly, the events of the past hours come back to her and her eyes open wide as she takes in her surroundings.

She’s lying on a couch, wrapped in a thick, musky smelling comforter. She wrestles out of it, the heat surrounding her, pleasant only a few minutes before, now suffocates her as panic rises within her body.

After escaping from her cocoon, she looks hastily around the room. Olivia and Becca lie together on the nearby loveseat, covered in quilts of their own that move in a soft rhythm as they breathe in and out. She can feel her rapidly beating heart slow, and her tight body relax, as she watches her sleeping daughters.

A deep grunt comes from her left and she turns to see Bellamy asleep in a chair. It’s thick and plushy, but obviously not made for sleeping on.

She vaguely remembers how they ended up on their respective ‘beds’. He’d woken her, calling her name softly so as not to wake the girls. She remembers mumbling to him about being too tired as he led her to the couch, throwing a blanket over her torso. Everything after that is in bits in pieces, the noise of a door shutting, the flare of a bright flame in the fireplace, the dark outline of him as he kneeled in front of it.

Her eyes rove across his figure – his legs are stretched out before him, ankles crossed, just as his arms are across his chest, and his hand grips tightly onto his bicep. The dancing fire to his left creates shadows that flit across his face, his nose flaring and his brows furrowed. He gives another grunt, twitching slightly in his chair. His whole body is wound tight, she realizes, and by the miserable look on his face, he is definitely not having a good dream.

She feels a pull deep in her chest to wake him, pull him out of the nightmare that his mind has trapped him in. But she quickly remembers why they’re here – he brought them here, kidnapped them at gunpoint- _the gun_. She remembers it like a flash of lighting that cracks through her mind. The last time she saw it he’d had it in his right coat pocket.

Her heart begins to speed up again as she envisions herself taking it from him while he sleeps. He hasn’t hurt them – and she truly gets the feeling like he wouldn’t, but she doesn’t know him, and she most definitely doesn’t trust him. Especially not with the lives of her daughters.

Fear and anxiety twist inside her belly as she makes the choice to do it, standing slowly from the couch, carefully stepping out of the comforter that still holds her legs captive. He’s not far, maybe five or six steps away, but it feels like an eternity as she quietly makes her way to him, staring at his face for any sign that he’s waking.

When she finally makes it, she stares down at his tense body. His jaw is clenched and his face almost looks like he’s in pain, and once again she wants to wake him from this nightmare he can’t seem to escape from.

She will, she decides – as soon as she gets the gun.

She bends over slowly, eyes never leaving his face. Her heart is beating a wild rhythm and it seems so loud in the silent room, that she’s afraid it will wake him. Her chest is painfully tight, and her belly trembles as she hesitantly pushes a hand into his pocket. She panics at first, breath faltering when she doesn’t feel anything at all, but the pocket is deep and she soon feels the warm metal.

She slowly releases a heavy breath from her nose, her eyes darting from his hard face to her hidden hand while she carefully begins to pull it back out. When she sees her fingers emerging she smiles widely, relief seeping throughout her body – then suddenly pain.

Clarke’s eyes go wide as she looks up into Bellamy’s awake, and very angry face. His eyes are clouded with hot rage and fear while he squeezes her throat with one hand and her arm with the other. The grip he has with both is beyond painful, and her mouth opens wide like a fish, as she gasps, trying to get air into her burning lungs.

Her eyes slam shut as she claws at the hand on her throat, desperate to breathe, and she hears a yelp of pain before the hold becomes stronger. Her face feels suddenly hot and her fingers cold, and she just can’t even think about anything anymore except about the lack of air. Then she abruptly remembers that the hand holding her throat is attached to a person, and she quickly reaches out, scratching at his face. She hears him as he yells out, and he roughly pushes her away from him. She falls and hits her side hard into the corner of a table, the impact leaving her breathless while trying to gasp for air through her burning throat.

Finally, the air comes, wheezing through her damaged throat and into her scorching lungs. She can’t hear anything – can comprehend nothing except for the blood rushing through her body. But then she slowly seems to wake from the fuzzy haze, and the intense pain hits her like a freight train – and it’s _everywhere_ , as her body trembles on the floor. She can hear heavy breathing to her right and she knows it’s him. She frowns up at the ceiling and she has the violent urge to punch him – more than once.

She turns her head and her eyes lock onto his. He too is lying on the floor, rapid breath escaping from his lungs as he holds his hand to his bloody face. His face is twisted with pain and confusion, his eyes filled with shame. She glares at him, her whole being bursting with hate for this man who’s done nothing but hurt her, threaten her, _scare_ her.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, tears shining in his eyes and she feels her hate soften just a bit. He looks so pitiful with his dark eyes, dejected expression, and bleeding face, that she has to look away before she does something stupid like tell him it’s okay.

Her wandering gaze finds the gun, laying above them under the table. She sees him as he notices what she’s looking at and she scrambles to get to it before he does. When she has it in her hands she points it at him, her nose flaring and her jaw set – she’s not a killer, but she will shoot him if she has to – but he hasn’t moved, she realizes – didn’t even try to go after the weapon.

She swallows hard, trying to rid herself of the knot in her throat as he watches her with sad eyes. He’s not even fighting. It’s like he’s accepted it, accepted that he deserves it.

But does he, her brain wonders. He kidnapped them, pointed a gun at her, stole her vehicle, and made them drive to the middle of nowhere to which there was now no escape. But he also probably saved Olivia’s life by making her wear her seatbelt – saved all their lives trying to find this damn cabin. He’d been nothing but kind to the girls and – even through his grumpy snarkiness – to her as well.

Looking at his miserable face now, he seems completely harmless, but there’s a small voice within her that warns her away, warns her to keep her _children_ away. No matter what he does, what he says, he’s _dangerous_.

She kneels, still pointing the gun in his direction. “Don’t move,” she enunciates, her voice hoarse and rough. He remains quiet, and only stares at her with sad eyes. She stands carefully and gasps as an intense stinging scorches along her side. Bellamy sits up slowly then, so as not to startle her, she guesses, and knits his brow, glancing down at her mid-section.

“You’re bleeding,” he says, softly.

She looks down quickly and sees that he’s right, she’s bled right through her sweater. She can feel the burning, piercing gash acutely now that she’s looking at the blood it’s caused. He starts to climb to his feet till she hastily points the gun at him once more. He pauses, swallowing hard, as he looks from the gun to her face. He still looks sad, his cheeks wet with tears that had fallen from his eyes, but he seems to have gotten control over the emotions that were clouding him before.

“Please,” he whispers in a husky voice, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He looks back down to her bleeding side. “Let me help you.”

And she crumbles inside. She so badly wants to believe him, so badly wants his help, help to carry the weight of emotions that have been suffocating her since the moment she found Finn in bed with a stranger. She’s suddenly unable to breathe as tears rapidly fill her eyes and her sore throat becomes tight. She hurts – everywhere – inside and out. And she can’t _breathe_.

She drops the hand holding the gun to her side, as everything that’s happened within the last few hours hits her all at once. Tears are falling liberally down her face and she’s coughing and crying so loudly she knows the girls are going to wake if she doesn’t stop. But she _can’t_ stop, as this hurricane of emotions takes over her.

She sees nothing, but she feels it has he takes her face in his hands – they’re large and warm, she notices – and he strokes her cheeks with his thumbs before sliding a hand to the back of her head, gently pushing her face into his shoulder. She drops the gun on the floor and her arms fly up to hold him, her fingers grasping onto the back of his coat, taking everything he’s offering because she needs it or she’s going to drown.

Eventually she can hear something other than herself, and it’s him, whispering into her ear, causing goosebumps to rise along the flesh of her neck. “Shhh, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay,” he assures her, and she hopes he’s right, because she has nothing else to hold onto right now – nothing and no one else to believe in.

Her arms slide up to wrap around his neck as his hands find her waist, and the back of her legs hit the edge of the couch. She didn’t notice that they’d moved, but she doesn’t even care as she holds onto him tighter, and her cries become quieter. He pushes her down gently as he kneels in front of her, lifting her shirt to check her side.

“I don’t think it’s too bad,” he says, quietly, his voice making her belly tremble, and she’s just too damn tired and upset to think about all the reasons why. “Should put something on it though.” Her eyes roam his face, trying to catch his, and when they do, he seems to falter. “I can look... in the bathroom.”

He clears his throat as he tears his gaze away from her, and it makes her feel cold. “There might be something in there,” he mutters, as he goes to stand. She holds him fast though, gripping onto the sleeves of his coat.

“Stay,” she pleads. If she were in her right mind, she’d be embarrassed by her begging. But she is most definitely _not_ in her right mind at the moment, so she doesn’t give one single fuck that she’s begging him to stay – begging her captor to stay.

He licks his lips. “You’re bleeding.”

“It can wait till tomorrow.” She grips his arms hard again, hard enough that she knows he can feel it through his coat. “Please don’t leave me alone,” she whispers.

They’re both quiet, staring at each other in silence while the fire burns dimly in front of them. He finally nods before looking down. “Okay.” She tries to catch his eyes again but it’s almost as if he refuses to meet them. He lies her down on the couch and she slowly releases the death-grip she has on his coat, one of her hands finding his own instead. And she likes it better she thinks, the skin to skin contact – he’s so very warm.

After she’s stretched out along the couch he turns, sitting against it, leaning his head back on a seat cushion. She wants to run her hands through his hair, feel the thick black tresses between her fingers, but even in the state she’s in now, she knows that, that would be crossing some kind of line. Instead she scoots forward furtively, so she can feel the back of his head against her middle, and the small contact warms her from the inside out.

She doesn’t want to think about how _right_ this insane scenario feels. How _good_. So she doesn’t think about anything except for his warmth as she closes her wet, tired eyes, listening to the whispering hiss of the fire.

xxxxxxxxx

Bellamy wakes to the sound of whispering, but he can’t distinguish what it says at first – it’s too low and his mind is too muddled. His slowly waking mind thinks of the night before instead, thinks of Clarke’s pale skin as it glowed in the fire and her tears as they trickled down her cheeks before falling from her chin. He thinks of how tightly she’d held onto him, holding him close as she cried out her fear. Her fear of _him_ , he suddenly remembered.

She’d been crying because of _him_.

His mind quickly took him back to the events that led up their embrace. He’d assaulted her, hurt her while he was lost in his nightmare, and she’d nearly shot him. Shame, like he’s never before felt, grips inside of him, twisting around, making him sick. His eyes snap open at the feeling and he sees Olivia standing beside him leaning on the couch, trying to get to her mother.

Bellamy takes hold of her side, pulling her away. “What are you doing?” he asks, softly.

Olivia gives him an angry look. “I have to go _potty_.”

She’d been asking to go since he’d taken them last night, and he knows the poor kid is probably about ready to burst.

He nods, carefully standing up, looking down at Clarke’s sleeping form. She seems peaceful in her sleep, young, and he wonders how old she actually is – this mother of two, who drives around in a fucking Escalade.

He needs to find a way to apologize for the night before – for _everything_ that happened the night before. Then he needs to think of a plan. Obviously, he couldn’t stay here forever, not now that he’d brought _them_.

He places a hand on Olivia’s back, leading her away towards the bathroom. He follows her in, setting up the toilet paper and opening a box a soap he finds under the sink, before leaving her to do her business. He stands on the other side of the door, not wanting to leave her completely alone. In no time at all he hears the sound of the toilet handle but no flush to go with it.

“It- it won’t _work_ ,” Olivia yells with aggravation.

Bellamy frowns, unsure if he should go in or not. “What’s wrong?” He hears a slapping sound followed quickly by what he assumes is the bang of the toilet lid. “Olivia?”

“It’s _broken_ , but I didn’t do it. It’s a dumb, stupid potty and it doesn’t work!”

He grins, trying to hold back his laughter at her frustration with the toilet. He knocks on the door. “Olivia, I’m going to come in. Are you dressed?”

She doesn’t answer but he hears her grunting and stomping around. It’s quiet after a while, and he waits a few more moments before knocking on the door again. “Olivia?”

He hears her stomp her foot. “ _What?_ ” she asks, in irritation.

His smile becomes wider as he shakes his head. “Are you dressed?” It’s quiet again, and he’s debating whether he should just go in or wake Clarke, when the door suddenly opens.

Olivia looks up at him with a frown. “I am _trying_ to go- use the potty, can you _excuse_ me please for a moment.”

Bellamy lifts a brow at her snarky tone. “I thought you were done. It’s broken?”

She shakes her head quickly, her messy hair flying around her head. “I didn’t break it.”

He smiles down at her kindly. “I know. Can I look at it?”

She eyes him and he wonders what exactly she’s afraid of him doing? She rolls her eyes before opening the door further to let him in.

He tries to flush it again but nothing happens.

“See? _I_ didn’t break it.”

“It’s okay,” he says as he turns to look at her. His eyes shoot up quickly when he sees Clarke standing in the doorway. She’s obviously just woken up and her hair is as much of a mess as her daughter’s, not to mention her eyes are red and puffy from all the crying the night before. But standing there now, in the doorway of a bathroom, he doesn’t think he’s seen anything as beautiful as her scowling face. Then he realizes how ridiculous that sounds so he looks away from the sleepy blonde.

“What’s going on?” she asks, groggily.

Olivia whips around, giving her mother a serious look. “The potty’s broken, mommy, but _I_ didn’t do it.”

“It’s not broken. There’s just no water,” he announces.

Clarke’s eyes snap up to him, her face full of worry. Before he can say anything, she strides up to the sink and turns on the faucet. It’s empty – dry – and her body seems to go into panic mode as she stares down at the sink. She tries turning both handles at the same time, hoping to get a different outcome.

He releases a heavy sigh. “It’s alright-“

She turns towards him, glaring at him with her fierce blue eyes that make his heart beat faster for reasons he doesn’t really want to think about. “How is it alright? How will _we_ be alright without water?” She looks away, working her jaw. “I mean, there’s snow,” she reasons. “We certainly have plenty of that.”

“It’s just the generator,” he explains, trying to assuage her worries before they even begin. “Everything in this cabin is powered by it, including the pump for the water.” He shakes his head as he raises his brows. “It probably just needs to be turned on.”

They’re quiet as they stand inches apart in the small bathroom, the only sound, their steady breathes. There’s a window, and the morning light that shines through brightens the tiny room immensely. He realizes this is the first time he’s really gotten a chance to see her whole body in the light and it’s just… breathtaking, even in the frumpy coat.

“See mommy, I told you I didn’t break it.”

Clarke bends down, kissing her daughter’s head, trying to smooth her mussed hair. “I know. Let’s find something to eat.” Her eyes meet his yet again. “There is food here, isn’t there?” she asks, with contempt.

He gives a half shrug, pursing his lips. “There might be some canned or dried food in the kitchen.”

She narrows her eyes. “Might be?”

He thinks he knows where this is going, and there’s no way in hell he’s getting into that conversation with her.

She tilts her head, eyeing him critically. “Is this, or is this _not_ yourcabin?”

He clears his throat as he looks down at the tiled floor. No, definitely not going to answer that one. He looks back up. “I’m going to go look for the generator,” he says, as he brushes past her and Olivia.

He can feel her eyes on him as he walks away, and it makes him cringe inside, knowing that she’s thinking of all the worst possible scenarios. He thinks about her eyes on him last night, and how she seemed to be thinking many things about him, and not all of them bad as she clung to him for comfort. He wonders what he’d have to do to get that back.


End file.
